


Love in the Time of Kale

by BrandonStrayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Facebook: The Pen15 is Mightier, M/M, One Night Stands, advertising agency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne
Summary: Harry and Hermione's ambitious marketing campaign is a tremendous success and the talk of the British advertising world. If only Harry could shake the memories of that one night of passion from weeks ago long enough to enjoy the accolades.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53
Collections: Pen15 Challenge 11: A Multiverse of Possibilities





	Love in the Time of Kale

**Author's Note:**

> I ate a kale salad a few weeks ago. The salad was disgusting but it inspired this story, so at least I didn't choke it down for nothing. This story was written for the Pen15 is Mightier 'A Multiverse of Possibilities' AU challenge.
> 
> I would like to thank [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliemaye) and [Keep_Calm_and_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_expecto_patronum), who once again came to my rescue and beta'd this for me. I would also like to thank [Scintilla_misha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scintilla_misha) who made sure all the advertising stuff didn't sound totally bonkers! I really appreciate all of their help! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

_August 27, 2004_

“One of our biggest obstacles is getting people to overcome their fear of the unknown. Lettuce is comfortable and familiar for people, but they don’t know what to do with kale. It has a very different texture to it that could be an impediment to getting people to put that bunch into their trolleys on their weekly shop.”

Harry looked around at the stony faces in the room, their expressions giving away nothing about how his presentation was going over. He smiled inwardly, knowing this next part would be the hook that landed them this account.

“To help overcome this fear of the unknown, we give people something familiar: a celebrity chef endorsement. We will hire one of the most familiar faces in the culinary industry to develop a collection of brand new recipes.”

Harry was intentionally vague, waiting for them to take the bait. He didn’t have to wait long. A woman at the other end of the table, who was sitting beside Hermione, leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped together and she leaned on the glass-topped table. “Who were you thinking?”

Harry grinned. “It just so happens that Gordon Ramsay is developing not one, but two cooking reality shows that will be airing on the telly in a few months’ time, so his people are going to want to get his face out there to promote them. The fact that kale has long been part of the traditional Scottish diet and Ramsay is Scottish will give the endorsement an air of authenticity.”

There was a breakout of low sibilant sounds peppered from around the room as the members of the client party leaned over to speak to each other in low whispers. The head of the British Kale Growers Association, the BKGA, leaned over a fraction of an inch to listen to something from the young man beside him before nodding brusquely. “Say you _can_ get Ramsay,” he began, the emphasis on the word suggesting that he doubted the possibility of Harry achieving such a feat, “how much will that set us back?”

“Normally he would be outside of your proposed budget, that is for sure,” Harry agreed. “But as I said, the fortuitous timing of him having two new television shows debuting provides us with a unique opportunity here. I have a contact in the Channel 4 marketing department and they have indicated that the channel would be open to negotiating a joint marketing venture that would split the costs.”

For the first time since he’d begun this presentation, the potential clients seemed truly excited. Harry couldn’t blame them; when he’d first been handed this pitch, he’d thought it was going to be impossible to come up with a way to advertise something as drab as kale. He’d fretted over it for days, inspiration remaining persistently elusive until lightning had finally struck when he’d run into an old boyfriend.

Harry hadn’t seen Jake since their break-up nearly two years ago, but fortunately, the break-up had been amicable and when they ran into each other at the supermarket—where Harry was scowling down at the display of kale bunches and contemplating a change of career—they had decided to grab a coffee and catch-up. When Jake had informed Harry that since they had parted ways he’d changed jobs and now worked for Channel 4, and just so happened to be working on the advertising for a new show they were developing called _Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares_ , Harry had recommitted to his career in advertising.

“Here’s a mock-up of a potential skyscraper ad we would run online. Depending on the final details of the agreement with Channel 4, we can coordinate print, digital and TV spots. We can even include enhanced television spots that will allow the consumer to click on a link directly within the ad to take them to the recipe that Ramsay featured.

“Once this campaign is complete, kale will be the talk of the town and chefs of every level will be scrambling to shake things up in their kitchens,” Harry finished as he clicked through to the end of the presentation he’d prepared. He looked around the room and studied the faces seated up and down both sides of the long conference table. There were a few smiling nods being exchanged amongst the junior members of the Kale Growers of Britain—it was made very apparent during the first meeting between Kale Growers of Britain and his employer, Media Magic, that they did not appreciate anyone using their rather unfortunate acronym—but the bolus of nerves sitting heavily in his stomach was refusing to go anywhere since the look on Mr Snape’s face, the head of the Growers association, was less than reassuring.

All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room as every head but one turned towards the far end of the table. Harry tried as hard as he could to maintain his confident facade as Severus Snape stared down his hook-nose at him. The silence stretched for what felt like an interminable amount of time, but Harry refused to back down from the man’s icy glare.

Finally, the man spoke, “Is that all, Mr Potter?”

Harry could see Hermione’s head whip around and her eyes bug out as she urged him to do _something_ to save this, but he ignored her. They had worked hard on this pitch and he _knew_ that it would work. He tipped his chin up, marshalling up the stray strands of confidence that had begun to leech away. “This campaign will make kale just as vital as lettuce. You’d be a fool not to sign on with Media Magic.”

Hermione’s head dropped and she began rubbing her forehead with her fingers, no doubt while a steady stream of invectives about Harry’s brashness ran through her head. Harry didn’t break eye contact with Snape. He knew this campaign was genius and if Snape didn’t realise it too, then he really was a fool.

“Is that so? Well, as they say, fools rush in, so we will need some time to consider your proposal.” Harry nodded, giving the intimidating man a terse, close-mouthed smile. “You will hear back from us next Friday.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to wait a week before finding out whether they’d managed to land the account, but he pushed down his insecurity and smiled at each of the Growers board members as they came by to shake hands with him before leaving the room. The last to leave was Severus Snape, who gripped Harry’s outstretched hand in a dominating grip paired with a curt nod before turning and blowing out of the room. The third of September felt a million years away.

His boss, Kingsley Shacklebolt, clapped him on the shoulder before speedwalking towards the elevator to catch up with the Growers board. Harry smiled gratefully as the other members of Media Magic offered him whispered words of encouragement as the room slowly emptied, but he felt impatient to be rid of them all and be able to debrief with Hermione. After a minute or so, the large conference room was empty with the exception of Hermione and himself.

“You did a great job, Harry,” she encouraged as she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But maybe try to avoid calling our potential clients fools in the future?”

Harry snorted at that. It wasn’t the first time his tongue seemed to move faster than his brain, but so far his moxie had worked in his favour. “You know I can’t promise that, Hermione,” he said, fighting back a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she unplugged her computer from the projector. “You know I’m not foolish enough to ask you to.” She leaned down, pulling up her email and scanning the list in her inbox, quickly and efficiently filing them away in the variety of nested folders she had set up. “If only there was some way to extract a binding promise from someone,” she mused. “Some sort of...unbreakable vow.”

Harry snorted. “If you had that power, you definitely wouldn’t have to be working here, and then where would I be?”

Hermione turned her head to smirk at him. “I would imagine you would be flailing around trying to optimize the SEO results.”

She wasn’t wrong; Hermione was definitely the brains in their collaboration. She seemed to have an ingrained understanding of data and statistics that was pretty much opaque for Harry. Whenever Hermione tried to explain the complex statistical analyses she did for these campaigns, Harry’s eyes tended to glaze over and it was like she was showing him a series of obscure runes.

“That’s why we work so well together; you’re the brains and I’m the—”

“Yes?” Hermione asked, standing up and crossing her arms in front of her chest while drilling Harry with an expectant look. “You’re not honestly going to try to claim you’re the brawn, are you?” Her gaze trailed meaningfully over Harry’s torso before returning to his face.

“Hey! I work out!” Harry protested. Well, he had a gym membership anyway. True, it may have been a while since he had actually used it.

“Lifting a pint from the table to your mouth doesn’t count as a workout, Harry,” Hermione accused, laughing.

“What I was going to say is that I’m the flourish,” Harry said, accompanying the pronouncement with a flick of his wrist.

Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but then her eyes darted to the right and she stood up straighter, smoothing down her skirt. Harry turned just in time to see Kingsley finish his walk past the wall of windows lining the conference room and round the doorframe. “Nothing’s official yet, but I think you two are going to be busy making sure every kitchen has a bunch of kale in their crisper next year.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her voice rising in excitement.

“I hope neither of you was thinking of taking a holiday in the next few months,” Kingsley said. “Good work, you two.”

“Thank you, sir,” they said in unison as Kingsley turned and made to leave, but a moment later he turned back around.

“Why don’t you two take the rest of the afternoon off?”

“Oh, I was just going to take a second look at the demographic analysis and—”

Harry cut Hermione off, “Thank you, sir. We’ll do that.” Kingsley gave Hermione an amused look and nodded his head before heading off towards his office. Hermione looked like she was about to protest that there was still too much work to do so Harry decided to forestall her. Circling around to behind Hermione, Harry placed his hands on his shoulders and began steering her out of the conference room and over to their desks. “Call Ron and have him drop the baby off with Molly and then meet us at The Hog’s Head. It’s time for some exercise!”

~*~

Several hours later, Harry was polishing off his third celebratory pint. Hermione was, as usual, taking much more moderate sips and was only halfway through her second, but her husband, Ron, was making sure that Harry didn’t drink alone.

“I’m going to go get another pint,” Harry announced, throwing back the last dregs of the dark ale and clunking the empty glass against the wooden table. “Hermione?” She shook her head as she took another small sip from her glass. “Ron?”

Ron’s face split in a wide grin and he said, “I never turn down a free drink,” which earned him a swat to the chest and chastisement from his wife.

Harry chuckled to himself as he walked away, leaving the couple bickering lightly with each other. They did this a lot, but their bickering never held any heat, and Harry always got the impression—though he had no desire to confirm it—that squabbling was their version of foreplay.

Forcing that thought aside, Harry wound his way through the crowded pub and towards the bar on the far side of the room. There was a crowd of people standing around, vying for the attention of the barkeep who, as Harry watched, tossed a bottle of clear alcohol in the air in an impressive spin before catching it upside down and running it across a line of shot glasses that were arranged on the bar. A rowdy hen do party squealed and clapped at the trick, but all Harry could think was that it was a shame so much booze was being wasted as it spilt over the top and between the shot glasses and left a wet puddle on the bar.

“I wonder if all of that wasted tequila gets docked from his pay.”

Harry startled as a cool, dry voice vocalised the very thought that had just been crossing his mind. He spun around to find a ridiculously fit man standing behind him. His short hair was arranged in a stylish faux-hawk and was so blonde that it almost appeared white, seeming to pick up and reflect the scant lighting in the bar, like a beacon. He was a few inches taller than Harry, which gave Harry the opportunity to appreciate the man’s trim physique and the way his lavender-coloured dress shirt hugged the muscles beneath, the top two buttons open and loose revealing a mouthwatering long neck that made Harry want to lean in and run his tongue up the length and around to whisper in his ear.

“See something you like?” the sexy voice asked and Harry startled, yanking his gaze up to the man’s face to find him looking down at Harry, an amused look pulling at his features.

Harry was about to turn back around, embarrassed at being caught out, but then a burst of bravery came over him and he took a step closer, their chests almost touching. “And if I do?”

Before the sexy stranger could answer, a hand was grabbing hold of Harry’s upper arm and he was being hauled around to find one of the inebriated members of the hen do party tugging at him. It was only then that Harry registered the loud chanting that had started while he had been distracted by the intriguing man.

“SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!”

Harry didn’t understand what was happening as he was pulled down the bar a bit to where the other members of the hen night were standing, encircling the woman that Harry deduced must be the bride—the white satin sash that had “The Bride” written across it in a curling golden cursive was kind of a dead giveaway.

“My best friend is getting married in a week!” the drunk woman that refused to let go of Harry’s arm was yelling, despite Harry’s increasing reluctance to move over towards the rowdy revellers. “Come do a shot with us!”

Realisation was beginning to dawn on Harry and he looked back over his shoulder at the fit stranger, but if he was looking for hope in that direction, his hopes were dashed; the man was wearing a Cheshire grin and his eyes sparkled as he caught sight of Harry’s pleading look.

Harry turned back around when the yanking pull on his arm finally ceased and he found himself face-to-face with the bride, who was definitely blushing, but that was more than likely because of the alcohol they’d been consuming.

“I’m getting married!” This proclamation was met with a round of cheers from the rest of her party that made Harry want to cringe and cover his ears to protect them. “Wanna do a shot with me?”

“Umm… sure,” Harry agreed reluctantly. One shot to be polite and then he could go back and pick up where he left off with the blond. _How bad could one shot be?_

Harry immediately found out the answer to that thought when the bride reached down and pulled her dress all the way up and over her head before tossing it at one of her friends nearby. Harry stood there gobsmacked as the woman, clad now only in a set of matching black lace knickers, jumped up onto the bar and then turned so she could lay back, stretching her body across the bar. Harry shuddered at the sight; he knew from personal experience that the bar had a tacky layer of dried booze and who knew what on it.

“SHOT! SHOT! SHOT! SHOT!” the partygoers began chanting again as Harry was manhandled forward until he was standing level with the bride’s belly button. The bartender winked at him as he pulled out the tequila bottle once more, but this time rather than filling a line of shot glasses, he tipped the nozzle over the bride’s stomach, the liquid pooling in her navel. Harry watched nervously as the woman accepted a wedge of lime and bit down on it, pulp out and facing him.

Harry cast another nervous look over at the man and was greeted with a raised drink before the man took a slow sip of his glass of what looked like whiskey on the rocks. He stared intently at Harry but didn’t seem inclined to step in. Harry wasn’t quite sure why he wanted this stranger to come to his rescue anyway—they’d barely said more than a dozen words to one another.

Harry was jostled closer to the bar and he broke eye contact with the stranger, returning his attention to the scantily clad woman in front of him. Any number of blokes in the bar would probably be more than happy to swap places with him, but of course, the women had managed to ensnare one of the few men in here that had no interest whatsoever in all of that exposed skin. Harry cast a furtive look down the bar—hopefully not the _only_ man with no interest in a half-naked woman.

The cheering had started again and somehow they seemed to be getting louder, though Harry had no idea how that was even possible. Harry smiled sheepishly at the crowd of women and took a fortifying breath before bending over and slurping up the puddle of liquid. The bride sat up as he swallowed and leaned forward, offering the lime wedge still lodged between her teeth to him. Harry took it, his lips brushing hers for the briefest of moments before he pulled back, biting into the tart citrus and chasing the tequila down.

Harry nodded sheepishly as the women congratulated him and he tried to excuse himself from the ruckus. A large hand clapped on his shoulder and he turned with excitement, hoping to find the alluring man from earlier, but instead, he found Ron giving him a look of surprise.

“Sorry ladies! I need my friend back,” Ron consoled the bridal party, who gave Harry and Ron exaggerated looks of disappointment as the two men made their way back down the bar. Harry was disappointed to see that there was no sign of the mysterious man he’d been pulled away from earlier. “I thought maybe you went to the loo, but I definitely didn’t expect to see you using a woman’s belly button as a shot glass.”

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow, wagging his eyebrows in a comical, suggestive way. Harry snorted. “Believe me, neither did I. I’m still not entirely sure how it happened. One thing I was standing here trying to order us our pints and the next thing I knew I was in the middle of a bridal bacchanalia.”

“Baccha?—you spend too much time with my wife. You’re becoming just as confounding as she is! Anyway, I came over to tell you that we’re going to head out. Hermione’s...ready to blow off some steam, if you know what I mean.”

Apparently Harry’s theory was right then. He blew past Ron’s not-so-subtle innuendo. “Right, cheers. I think I might hang around for a bit here. Have one more pint.”

“Sounds good, mate. You might want to steer clear of that lot,” Ron pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the hen do. Harry was relieved to see that the bride was once again wearing her dress, but she was now using her sash as a lasso, pulling one of the other bar patrons toward her. Though, given the way he was eyeing her, he was more than game for their antics.

Harry laughed. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Too bad it wasn’t a stag do instead, huh?” Ron said, winking and nudging Harry with his elbow again.

“I’m not really sure that would have made it less uncomfortable, to be honest,” Harry said. Though if that lean blond had offered…

Before Harry’s imagination could get too carried away with that possibility, Hermione stepped up beside Ron.

“Oh good, Harry, are you okay with us leaving?” Hermione looked at him uncertainly, but she couldn’t stop the devious smile that tilted her lips when Ron slipped his hand around her waist. Harry pretended not to notice when Ron’s hand dropped out of sight a moment later.

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to grab one more pint and then I’m heading home,” Harry assured her. “You two get out of here.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked again, pointedly ignoring Ron as he nuzzled his nose in the hair behind her ear.

“Go. Get out of here.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, looking relieved. “We’ll see you on Sunday for brunch, yes?”

“Of course. I’ll make sure to bring three bottles of champagne this time.” Last time they’d gotten together for brunch, the mimosas had run dry far too quickly.

Hermione gave him a hug goodbye and Ron patted him on the shoulder and then they turned and disappeared into the crowded pub. Harry managed to grab the attention of the bartender much more easily, offering a non-committal confirmation that the body shot had indeed been “awesome”, and ordered his pint. Taking his pint, he beat a hasty retreat as the hen night began to gather volume again and he headed out onto the second-floor patio. Leaning against the rail, he looked down at the people walking along the busy street below as he enjoyed his ale.

“Having fun?”

The sip he’d been about to swallow went down the wrong pipe and he coughed and spluttered, trying to clear his airway. Even striving to get a fresh breath, he still didn’t miss the firm slaps on his back. Finally, Harry was able to suck in a lungful of air and he glanced over to the same blond man as earlier, who was settling into a relaxed pose against the balcony railing.

“Given that you just about frightened me to death just now, I’d have to say no.” Harry turned his head to look back over the street and took another sip. He was feeling embarrassed and wrong-footed, yet again, and he wondered if he would ever not look like a prat in front of this man.

“You seemed like you were having fun earlier,” the man said, his tone lazy and teasing.

“Hardly,” Harry muttered, rotating his glass between his outstretched palms.

“I’m sure Pans will be thrilled to know you found the experience to be such an ordeal.”

“It wasn’t an ordeal, it was just—who’s ‘Pans’?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Draco, darling! There you are! I thought you’d snuck off and gone home.” Harry spun around to see the bride from earlier step up and throw her hand around the man’s—Draco’s—neck and pull his head down to place a kiss on his cheek. When she released him, a fire engine red stamp of her lips stood out against his pale skin.

“I needed to give my ears a respite from all the screeching,” Draco explained. Gesturing to Harry, he continued, “Pansy, you remember...I’m terribly sorry, I never got your name.”

“Oh, um...Harry. I’m Harry.” Harry held out his hand to the raven-haired bride, but to his surprise, she crossed over to him and greeted him in the same way she had Draco.

“Nice to meet you, Harry! I’m getting married!” Pansy proudly declared, much louder than was called for on the much more quiet patio.

“Yes, I’d pieced that together,” Harry said, trying to be polite, but his eyes shot over to Draco when he snorted at Harry’s remark and the two shared a knowing look before Pansy continued speaking, completely oblivious to them.

“You’re fit. You should come!”

“Come where?” Harry asked, confused.

“To my wedding, silly!” Pansy laughed and slapped him on the arm. Harry couldn’t help but grin at the woman, who was definitely pretty deep into her cups if she was inviting complete strangers to her nuptials. Especially a stranger that had sucked tequila out of her navel less than an hour ago.

“You can be Draco’s date! He hasn’t gotten a leg over someone in months!” Harry’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at Draco, who looked less than pleased with his friend right now.

“Yes, Pansy. And when your soon-to-be-husband asks how you know Harry, should we just explain that Harry here saw you in your knickers and used your body as a shot glass?”

Pansy’s face sort of melted and went all wobbly and she looked like she was going to cry. “You won’t tell Neville, will you, Drakey-poo?”

Draco stiffened at the endearment, but then made a visual effort to release the tension in his shoulders as he sighed. “No, I won’t tell Neville, Pans.”

Just like that, Pansy’s desperate look was washed away and she grinned up at Draco as she clung onto his arm. “I knew you wouldn’t betray me. You love me!”

Draco rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, I love you. Now I think you should get back to your hen party and let Harry and I get to know one another a little better.”

“Alright, but come find me later, ‘kay?” Pansy pulled Draco’s head down once more, placing another bright kiss on his cheek, the other one this time. “You can buy us another round of shots!” Turning to Harry, she said, “Draco will buy you a shot too!” Then she waved and spun around, staggering towards the patio door and back into the pub.

“So that’s ‘Pans’?” Harry asked, still trying to wrap his head around the confusing encounter. Draco snorted as he began wiping away the lipstick marks on his cheeks.

“She’s generally not quite that...overwhelming,” Draco eventually settled on. “She’s had rather a lot to drink this evening.”

“Aren’t hen nights generally, you know, women-only?” Harry asked as he used the napkin he’d been given with his drink to wipe off his own cheek.

“Yes, well, as the man of honour, it’s my obligation to help organise the hen night,” Draco explained.

“You’ve missed a spot. Just there,” Harry offered, pointing to Draco’s right cheek where there was still a streak of red lipstick smeared across the sharp cheekbone and making it appear as if Draco had broken out in an appealing blush.

“A little assistance?” Draco asked, his voice silky as Harry realised that he was staring unabashedly at Draco and cleared his throat. Draco turned his head and leaned closer, bringing his face close enough that Harry could reach out and touch.

“Oh, ummm…” Harry trailed off as he swallowed, then raised his hand still holding the napkin and used it to wipe away the streak of red on Draco’s cheek. The moment lingered, Harry reluctant to break the contact as his hand slowly dropped away and Draco leaned back.

“Much obliged, Harry.” The way Draco said his name sent a fluttery sensation down Harry’s body, the low husky voice promising all sorts of things. “So tell me—” Draco turned to face the street, leaning down and resting his forearms on the railing. Harry took a moment to appreciate the curve of Draco’s arse before shifting to stand beside him, matching his posture. “—why didn’t you enjoy that body shot? Half the blokes in that pub probably would have been thrilled to trade places with you, and the other half would too if they weren’t here with their girlfriends.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “She’s very beautiful, but she just isn’t my type.”

“And who, pray tell, is your type?” Draco turned to look at him, his steely grey eyes drilling into Harry, expectant. Harry was about to say something flippant, to cut the tension between them, but then Draco added, “You know what they say: Fortune favours the brave.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether it was the taunting words or his own insistent lust that gave him the strength to do it, but he threw back a large gulp of liquid courage and turned his body to face the other man. “You.”

The silence stretched between them, both men staring the other down, the tension growing, until the corner of Draco’s mouth quirked in a tiny gesture. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Draco reached down and encircled Harry’s wrist with his long fingers. His hands were cool, sending a chill up Harry’s arm as Draco began steering him towards the door into the pub.

“What about Pansy? Her hen night?” Harry asked, nervousness and excitement roiling around inside of him. This all felt like it was happening so quickly and his brain was frantically trying to catch up with his body.

“Ah, you’re right,” Draco said, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony of voices filling the pub. Draco veered off to the left, pulling Harry in his wake and over to a banquet on the far wall where Harry recognised several women from the hen night crowded together around the table. There was an impressive collection of empty glasses scattered around the table. Pansy was now wearing a headband with a long, thin plastic penis on it, making her look like an erotic version of a unicorn, while her friends tossed rings at her, trying to get them over the penis horn.

“Draco, darling! Have you come to buy us more drinks?” Pansy shouted, the two rings that had made it around the horn spun around as she tossed her head back to look up at them.

“Actually, I’m going to head out now.”

“Boooo! Draco! You can’t leave!” Pansy cried, her mouth curving down into an exaggerated pout.

Harry was disappointed and thought for a second that Draco had reconsidered when he let go of Harry’s wrist, but then Draco reached into the back pocket of his slim, black trousers and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a couple of £50 notes, then after a moment of consideration, pulled out one more, before tossing them on the table.

“Millie, take care of her, alright?” Draco turned to address the woman sitting closest to them, a dark-haired woman who looked much less thrilled to be there than the rest of the party attendees. Judging by the glass of what looked like ice water in front of her, Harry guessed that she was the designated driver for the evening.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get her home safe,” Millie promised.

Just then, Pansy seemed to notice Harry standing awkwardly behind Draco and her face transitioned seamlessly into one of open-mouthed excitement. “ARE YOU FINALLY GETTING LAID?!”

Even with the dark lighting inside the pub, Harry was pretty sure his flushed cheeks must be visible to anyone that took the time to look at him. If there was any doubt about who she was talking about, it was dispelled a moment later when he felt Draco’s soft, slender fingers slip between his own as Draco turned and led Harry away without deeming to answer Pansy’s question.

“TEXT ME IF YOU NEED A REFRESHER ON HOW TO PUT ON A CONDOM!” A burst of laughter erupted behind them and Harry cast a look around to see a few of the pub patrons eyeing the two of them with a mixture of quizzical, amused and judgmental looks.

Fortunately, it only took them a minute or so to make their way out of the pub and then they were once more in the fresh evening air. “Sorry about that,” Draco said sheepishly. “When she’s been drinking, she becomes a little...uncouth.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said. “I think that’s probably pretty common during hen nights. When my best friend, Hermione, had her hen night, she told me that she got so drunk that she mistook a police officer for a stripper and stuck a £20 note into his utility belt.”

Draco let out a small chuckle. “Did she get arrested?”

Harry shook his head. “No, fortunately, the officer had a sense of humour about it. She felt so guilty about it, though, that she sentenced herself to 20 hours of community service to make amends.”

Draco smiled and then they stood there awkwardly. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to go about this as he’d never actually had a one night stand before. Should they go to his place? Draco’s? Rent a hotel room? He was just starting to lather himself up into a full-blown panic when Draco finally broke the tension.

“Do you live around here?”

“Oh, um...yeah. Maybe about 15 streets in that direction.” Harry pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Closer than mine, so your place it is.” Before Harry could say anything, Draco had stepped into the street to hail a taxi. Harry was just about to say that cabbies never stopped around here and they’d have more luck if they walked one street east when a taxi pulled over and stopped to pick them up.

“How did you do that? Cabbies never stop here,” Harry said, amazed. Draco pulled open the back door of the cab and held it open for Harry.

As Harry bent his head to climb in, Draco said, “It’s my magical skill. I never have trouble hailing a taxi.”

Harry gave the driver his address and proceeded to spend the rest of the cab fighting every instinct in his body that was screaming at him to pounce on Draco. The fact that the man took advantage of the dark shadows in the backseat to let his hand wander up the inseam of Harry’s denims, close enough to graze against Harry’s rapidly filling cock.

The too-long taxi ride was followed by questing tongues, fumbling hands, hastily shed clothing, and sweat-slicked bodies. Once they were finished, Harry collapsed down onto the bed and sleep quickly overtook him.

When he awoke the next morning, Draco was gone.

~*~

“Harry, are you listening?”

Harry shook himself and refocused on Hermione, who was pointing at a spreadsheet with an incomprehensible grid of numbers on it. His mind had been wandering again, reliving that night with Draco from a few months ago. It was only supposed to be a one-off, but his mind had developed a tendency of wandering back to it at inconvenient times. He didn’t regret the night, but he definitely regretted not asking more questions. Like what Draco’s phone number was, or his last name even.

“What? Yeah. Of course, I’m listening,” Harry said quickly. He really hoped that Hermione wouldn’t call him on the lie.

Sitting back in her chair, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and hit Harry with an intense stare. “Alright, then what did I just say?”

_Shit._

“Umm, you were saying that the cost per engagement is going up?” Harry guessed.

Hermione sighed and regarded Harry with a stern look. “Harry, this is serious. I really need you to pay attention.”

Their _Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares_ tie-in campaign had been a rousing success so far. Sales of kale had gone up over 200% in the last three months and the British Kale Growers Association was thrilled. Harry and Hermione had been lauded by the partners of their agency and there were even whispers that their campaign might be nominated for an award next year.

“Sorry, Hermione. What were you saying?”

Hermione’s stern look lasted for a few more moments and then her features softened and she smiled at him. Lifting her hand, she pointed to the computer screen again. “There’s been a 19% drop in the use of the search terms we’ve been using for targeted advertising.”

“That doesn’t seem too bad?” Harry asked uncertainly. “It’s not like we expected the campaign’s effectiveness to continue on exponentially. We knew it would slow down eventually.”

“Well yes, obviously we weren’t expecting to maintain the same level of success we had initially,” Hermione agreed, but her brows were still drawn together in concern as she continued, “but we projected the sales growth to continue for at least three more months. I’m already noticing a downward trend in the numbers, which is not good.”

“But sales are still going up,” Harry protested, pointing to the number representing the previous week’s sales numbers, which still showed an increase over the previous week’s number.

“Yes, sales are still growing, but the rate of growth is dropping. See?” Hermione pressed a few buttons on her keyboard and the monitor switched over to an Excel window where a line chart showed the upward curve of sales. “The sales are still going up, but if I look at rate of growth, “ she scrolled down to show a new line chart, this one with ending with a small downward curve, “it’s started to decline.”

Harry’s brows drew together as he contemplated what she was saying. “Maybe it’s just a blip, or something?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, nodding. “It may be…” she trailed off, not sounding convinced at all. “I’ll keep an eye on it and see if we get back on track next week.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. And until then, let’s keep this between the two of us. I don’t want to panic Oliver if it turns out to be nothing.” Their boss, Oliver Wood, had a well-established tendency to become fixated on things, and Harry knew that if they clued him into this, he would have them working 18 hour days until they had worked out a plan of action to attack the problem that Harry wasn’t yet convinced existed.

~*~

“Mr Potter, could you explain to me why we’re still paying your agency’s rather exorbitant rates when you seem incapable of delivering the results that you promised us?” Severus Snape looked relaxed in his seat, his chin propped up against his bent forefinger and thumb as he gazed expectantly at Harry. Harry knew better though; he’d heard the shouting complaints that Mr Snape had doled out to Oliver over speakerphone earlier.

“Well, we’re still trying to get to the bottom of it, but it appears that someone may be launching a counter-campaign,” Harry stammered out. His confident swagger was long gone and he’d gone from expecting a promotion a few weeks ago to hoping beyond hope that he managed to keep his job.

As usual, Hermione’s data analysis had been spot-on and the drop in numbers had not been a blip like Harry had hoped. For the last few weeks, they had been scrambling to figure out why their campaign was falling to pieces and trying to figure out how they could stop the bleeding and resuscitate it.

“Explain.” That one word was filled with infinite volumes and Mr Snape stared down his hook-nose at Harry.

Harry swallowed nervously, trying to shake off the creeping sense of dread that those cold, shark eyes staring unblinkingly instilled in him. Whether she sensed his discomfort, or just couldn’t handle the pregnant pause, Hermione leaned forward beside him and flipped open the brown leather folder in front of her on the table.

“We have seen an uptick in articles on a variety of health-related websites that highlight the supposed health risks of kale has been gaining prominence in the search engine results,” Hermione explained. “Articles which claim that kale is high in compounds that can interfere with thyroid function and carries a high amount of pesticide residue.”

“None of this is new,” Mr Snape looked unconvinced. “Though high in goitrins, it would require the consumption of at least one kilogram of raw kale a day for several months to consume enough to result in thyroid function disruption. And cooking or steaming the kale before consumption eliminates that risk.”

“Yes, I understand that, but unfortunately people aren’t always rational about things like this,” Hermione said.

Mr Snape continued as if Hermione had not spoken, “And nearly every produce item you find in the supermarket will have residue pesticides on it. The solution is to simply wash your produce before consumption.”

“Yes, I realise that, but—”

“If people actually took the time to read the full article, most would probably come to those same conclusions since all of those points that you mentioned are in them,” Harry said, casting Hermione a quick apologetic look before returning his attention back to the intimidating man sitting across from them. “Unfortunately, a surprisingly large percentage of people will either just skim the article, will only read the first few paragraphs, or will even just read the title of the article and not even bother to read the rest of it.”

“And when you have an article with an incendiary title like “ _Is Kale the Secret Killer Lurking in Your Cupboard?”_ , if people don’t take the time to actually read the article, then they’re not going to be inclined to pick up a bunch of kale when they’re doing their weekly shop,” Hermione added.

“And you say someone is orchestrating these inflammatory articles? Who, exactly, do you suppose that is?” Mr Snape asked, his tone deceptively calm, as if he was merely curious, but the way he was tapping his index finger rapidly against the table, the over-long nail click-click-clicking against the glass surface, gave him away.

“The articles were written in a way that seemed to suggest they were like any other article on the site, but they were actually paid pieces,” Hermione explained. When Snape’s brows drew together, she elaborated, “Advertisements that were designed to look like legitimate news pieces. It’s something we call ‘native advertising’; they’re meant to be indistinguishable from the rest of the website content.”

“I see,” Mr Snape said.

“None of the companies we contacted that are hosting the native ads was willing to provide us with the information of who purchased the ad, however, we did discover that all the articles eventually traced back to one of three websites that are stated as sources within the advertisement,” Hermione explained.

They paused and waited for a reaction from Mr Snape, but he merely watched them expectantly, the nail clacking away the only sound in the room. After a few moments, he asked, “So there are three people conspiring against our organization’s interest, then?”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look and Harry nodded, indicating Hermione should share the next piece of information they’d managed to gather.

“No, actually. All three website domains appear to have been registered from a single IP address.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Mr Snape asked drily.

“It simply means that all three websites were set up using the same computer,” Hermione explained.

“And where is this computer?” Snape asked, circling his hand in a rushing gesture.

“Well, we don’t actually know that yet, but our IT department is working on that,” Hermione said, her shoulders shrinking into herself when Snape let out a very loud and prolonged breath through his nose, his displeasure obvious.

Harry jumped back in, hoping that even though they didn’t yet know who was behind the attack ads, Snape would be appeased by the new plans that he and Hermione had come up with for getting the sales numbers back up enough that he didn’t fire the firm. “I assure you that we’re working on tracking down the source of the websites and counter-ads, but in the meantime, if you’ll just give us a few more minutes, Hermione and I can share with you some of the ideas we have to counteract the drop in sales.”

Harry held his breath as he waited for Snape to say something. The other man just glared at him for long enough that Harry was sure that their chances of keeping this account were dashed, but finally, he spoke, “Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”

~*~

“Harry, you can’t be serious?” Hermione’s voice pitched up as she chastised him. Harry switched the mobile to his other ear as the taxi came to a stop in front of the address that Harry had supplied. Leaning to the side, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and began pulling out the fare as he held the phone to his ear using his shoulder.

“Of course I’m serious, ‘Mione. No thanks, keep the change.”

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Not you, I was talking to the cabbie,” he explained as he climbed out of the back of the taxi. “Why do you think we’ve had IT running all sorts of traces to try and ID who’s been torpedoing our campaign? Of course, I’m going to come and see who’s behind it.”

“But what if they don’t appreciate you tracking them down? What if they’re violent?” Hermione asked.

Harry laughed. “Hermione, this isn’t some movie. They’re in advertising, they’re not secret agents. Unless you’re suggesting that MI5 is behind this somehow?”

Harry could hear the whooshing sound of Hermione letting out a long breath through the earpiece, but eventually, she said, “Well no, obviously that is highly unlikely. Still, you could have at least let me come with you.”

Harry grinned at his best friend as he leaned back and looked up at the building. It was a white brick, three-storey building. The unit that Harry was interested in was midway down the street, sandwiched between two others. Across the street was a private, gated park which was a sure sign that the price tag for this particular piece of real estate was far beyond Harry’s salary. The door for number 5 was painted a deep pine green colour and above it was an elaborate array of windows which resembled a spread-out peacock’s tail.

“I promise that the next time I go off on a quest, I’ll have the taxi swing by and pick you up first,” he said as he reached up and knocked on the door using the knocker, which was an elaborate silver piece that was shaped like a snake curled around itself and forming an infinity symbol.

“Fine. At least bring me back a salad from that place that I like, would you?” Hermione said, the annoyance already gone from her voice.

“Ugh. That kale monstrosity?” Harry asked. “You know, just because we’re trying to hawk the stuff doesn’t mean you have to buy into the hype.”

“I will have you know that kale is quite delicious and is full of nutrients and antioxidants and…”

Hermione’s voice droned on in his ear but Harry didn’t hear a word she said after that because just then the door was pulled open and Harry’s mind was overcome with shock as he stood face-to-face with the very last person he expected.

“It’s you,” they said in unison.

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Hermione asked.

“Hermione, I have to go,” Harry managed to stutter out before stabbing wildly at his mobile trying to hang it up. He was too worried that Draco would disappear again if he looked away. Finally, her distant voice cut out and he tucked the mobile into his jacket pocket.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked accusingly. One of Draco’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose at Harry’s question and the surprise on his face began to give way to suspicion.

“ _I_ work here. What are _you_ doing here?” Draco shot back.

Harry took a step back and looked up, but he had the address right. Number 6. His brain was having trouble computing what was going on. “You work here?” Harry asked confused.

That sexy smirk that Harry remembered as if it was just yesterday that they’d met graced Draco’s face. “I must have drunk more than I thought that night; I don’t remember you being this daft.”

“You’re Lettice Green?” Harry asked.

“No, that’s our web designer… How do you know Lettice?” Draco asked, looking almost as confused as Harry did.

Harry’s mobile rang again and Harry pulled it out to see Hermione’s number on the screen. He declined the call. “What kind of business is this?” Harry asked as he looked around the front of the building yet again. He noticed a small, discreet plaque to the left of the door that he hadn’t noticed before which read: Abracadabra Agency.

“We’re a boutique advertising agency,” Draco said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving Harry a haughty look, which morphed into one of annoyance when Harry started laughing. “Are you mad? That would be so like me to pick up a nutter for a quick shag.”

Harry struggled to get a hold on himself. He’d spent months wondering about who this man was and wishing he had a way to contact him, and now, here he was, delivered straight to Harry’s doorstep. Well, technically Harry had delivered himself to Draco’s doorstep, but no point quibbling over the minutiae.

Draco cast a nervous glance behind him and then stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. “I know that I’m a fantastic lay, but it’s inappropriate to track someone down to their place of employment like this, Harry.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” At Draco’s expression, Harry rushed to assure him, “I mean, you were, but that’s not why I’m here.” Draco looked slightly mollified by Harry’s reassertion of his skills in the bedroom.

“Pray tell, why are you here?”

“I also work in advertising,” Harry explained, earning a look of surprise from Draco. “In fact, we just launched a big new campaign a few months ago.”

“Bully for you,” Draco said.

“Yeah. Maybe you’ve seen the advertisements around? We’re doing a big tie-in with an upcoming cooking show.” Harry watched as understanding dawned on Draco and he regarded Harry with amusement.

“I have seen those ads, actually. That was a really good campaign,” Draco said, uncrossing his arms and lifting one to lean against the frame of the door. “In fact, I owe you one, because it helped land us a new account.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked. All of the frustration that he had when he first got here was gone and he was just amused and intrigued to find out whatever this man was going to say next.

“It did,” Draco confirmed, nodding. “The Lettuce Grower’s League were quite concerned by their recent drop in sales.”

“That answers that mystery,” Harry said, laughing as he pulled out his mobile, which was ringing yet again. “Yeah, hi Hermione. No, everything’s fine. I just ran into an old friend. I’ll tell you all about it later. I might be a little late with your salad though; he’s going to take me out for lunch. Okay, bye.”

Draco regarded Harry with a dry, amused look. “I don’t recall offering to take you out to lunch.”

“Sure you did. You said you owed me one,” Harry said, grinning back at him.

“I suppose I did,” Draco agreed. “Wait here and I’ll go get my coat.” Before Harry could say anything, Draco had slipped back inside and the green door was shut in his face. Harry couldn’t stop grinning, nodding at several people as they walked past him down the street and wishing them a good day.

After a few minutes, Harry spun around at the sound of the heavy door creaking open again to see Draco emerge wearing a soft grey coat which perfectly accentuated his eyes. “So Lettice works for Big Lettuce?” Harry asked as they turned and began walking down the street, Draco leading the way.

Draco shot him a smirking look. “You can’t make stuff like that up. So what would you like for lunch? A salad perhaps?”

“Maybe, just as long as it doesn’t have kale in it?” At Draco’s inquisitive eyebrow, Harry added, “I can’t stand the stuff.”

“It really is quite foul. Fit for rabbit food and nothing more,” Draco agreed.

“How about we go grab a pint instead?” Harry proposed, laughing.

“Last time we grabbed a drink, we ended up in bed together,” Draco warned, his voice turning silky and seductive.

“Oh, I remember,” Harry said. “So...a pint?”

“A pint would definitely hit the spot,” Draco agreed.

“Potter,” Harry spit out without thought. At Draco’s confused look, he explained, “My last name. It’s Potter. I realised after last time that I didn’t even learn your last name.”

Draco stopped walking and whirled around to face Harry. Holding up his hand in greeting, he said, “Draco Malfoy, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Grinning, Harry reached up and shook Draco’s hand. A second later Draco yanked on his hand and pulled a stumbling Harry in toward him, his other hand snaking up and running through the short hairs at the base of Harry’s skull.

“Or we could take both take the afternoon off and go back to your place and I can show my gratitude in another way,” Draco suggested, his lips brushing teasingly against Harry’s. His warm breath smelled of mint and Harry wondered whether he’d taken the time to brush his teeth when he went inside to get his coat.

Harry gave himself one small moment of weakness and pressed against Draco, the kiss just as amazing as he remembered from all those weeks ago, before pulling away and taking a step back. “So you can disappear on me again? Nope, this time we’re going out on a date so that you can get to know me and realise what a catch I am.”

“That’s quite presumptuous of you,” Draco said.

“Yeah, but remember, fortune favours the brave,” Harry said, flashing back to Draco’s provocative words, the dare that fortified Harry’s nerve and won him a night of the best sex he’d ever had. The first of hopefully many more.

**Author's Note:**

> Kale is gross.


End file.
